When professor/literary reviewer Delaney Conner wins a makeover, she's suddenly getting lots of attention! Too bad it's from bad boy--and very sexy--author Nick Angel, whose latest book Delaney shredded. Her main complaint? All of Nick's sex scenes lack emotion. Where's the passion? The feelings? But when she and Nick find themselves between the sheets, Delaney ends up feeling far more than she ever expected. Nick finds Delaney frustrating and very, very attractive. But experience tells him it's just skin-deep. So he challenges the seductive Delaney--either prove that love makes good sex great (her theory), or else admit that the world's greatest sex is purely physical (his theory). No matter who wins, they're going to have a deliciously decadent time proving each other wrong.

Excerpt

“Either prove good sex needs emotions...” he trailed off, his voice pure liquid heat, “or admit the greatest sex in the world is purely physical.”

Delaney gasped. Sure, she’d imagined sex with him. What woman under ninety with a pulse wouldn’t? And he’d given her some hot looks that coming from any other guy—to any other gal—she’d have imagined meant he might be interested. But her? And the sexiest man alive? The idea made her head spin, and, she squirmed, made her panties damp.

“You expect me to sleep with you?” she asked in her most shocked tone. It was mostly show, though. She’d already had sex with the man in her mind at least a dozen times since he’d walked on the set. But to actually have sex with him? Her makeover was much too surface for that.

“Can you think of any better way to prove your point?” he asked with a wicked laugh. The look on his face made it clear he was turned on by the concept. Delaney narrowed her eyes. It had to be a trick. Guys didn’t give her those long, sexy looks. Not unless they wanted something. Or, in Nick’s case, wanted to distract her. Or worse, make her look like a fool.

Her shoulders tightened.

“You have to be kidding,” she said with a sniff. “I’m not having... how did you put it? Sexual relations with you just to win some stupid bet.”

“Don’t you want to learn firsthand my version of intimacy?”

“Just as much as you want to experience a committed, loving relationship,” she shot back.

“And you really believe that to have good sex, that emotional thing needs to be present?”

“I do. Passion is stronger than lust,” she insisted. With a wave of her hand, she gestured between the two of them. “How easy would it be to say, sure, let’s do it. We could walk through that door and rip each other’s clothes off. We could get hot, sweaty and wild. Screams of satisfaction would echo down the hallway.” She eyed the smug look on his face and arched her brow before adding, “Your screams.”

His grin was fast and appreciative.

Delaney’s breath hitched at the sight, but she didn’t let passion cloud her argument.

“But it wouldn’t matter. It’d only be a fleeting passion. Quick, pointless and once it was over, you’d walk away without another thought. That,” she pointed out, “is lust. Which would only prove my point.”

His eyes had darkened to a deep midnight blue, the hunger flaming clear and bright. From the intensity of his stare, he liked the image her words evoked.

Nick took a step forward, so close the heat of his body warmed her beaded nipples. Delaney lifted her chin, trying to hide the fact that she was not only turned on, but intimidated as hell.

“What if I promised you that if you unlock that door, the sex would be so good you’d forget all about the myth of love?”

Delaney gulped but didn’t back down. Not when her entire belief system was on the line.

“I might forget for the moment. Good sex has a way of doing that.” At least, she’d imagine it did. She’d never personally had sex good enough to make her forget Lady Chatterley’s Lover, let alone something as important as her feelings. “But that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m saying that true intimacy, that passion, is more than slam, bam, thank you ma’am.”

“And I’m saying if the slamming is done right, ma’am is the one doing the thanking.”

Delaney rolled her eyes.

“You’re playing with words,” she told him.

“Words are my specialty. They’re not all I’m good at, though,” he said, stepping close enough for her to feel the heat from his body. Her own responded instantly.

“Obviously,” she murmured, not about to argue his sexual prowess. After all, the guy got her hot and wet just standing there in all his male cockiness. If he actually put some moves on, she’d probably melt into a whimpering puddle.

“Speaking of bets...” he said, his words trailing off as he moved even closer. Heat radiated off his chest and an answering flame flickered low in her belly. “What do you say? A no strings fling. Hot, wild sex.”

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Extras

I buy myself a fabulously fun pair of shoes or boots to celebrate each book I go to contract for. This is what I got for Risque Business:

Steve Madden Zimaa

Risque Business Playlist(I create a music playlist for each manuscript I write – it becomes almost hypnotic, so when I hear the music I’m right there *in* the story again)